


Oathbreaker

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Death of a Child, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Married Couple, Supportive Partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: As much as Theron liked to think they clicked and really got each other, she had a way of throwing a curve ball at the most unexpected moments and leaving him feeling like a fish out of water.
Relationships: Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Theron Shan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Oathbreaker

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry for this one. I blame the writers for being cruel. This is their fault. This story deals with one of the daily missions on Dantooine, “Enemy Among Friends”, which I think was, erm, less traumatic for other players who hadn’t given their characters intricate backstories of a sensitive nature. 
> 
> It also references the Knight’s time as a thrall under Vitiate, and details an incident from there that is quite unpleasant, so please heed the warnings in the tags.

It was over before it even began.

One moment she had the datapad in her hand, squinting at the tiny text on the screen, the next moment it had been dropped as she drew both her sabers. Blaster bolts lit up the dim interior of the little farm building, rapidly deflected by twin sabers. 

It was Grey’s instincts of a Jedi that had her reacting defensively at first. Trying to wound or disarm their attacker with his own ammunition. Those instincts shifted when one of the bolts flew past her defenses, nearly grazing Theron. He was _fine—_ he’d managed to dodge out of the way and pull his blasters out in one motion. However before they had even cleared the holsters, their attacker was dead. There was a charred, smoking hole in his chest armor as the fizzling hum of a lightsaber deactivating filled the air.

Silence hung in the stillness. Without the constant blaster fire or the light of a saber, it was dark again and it took Theron’s eyes a moment to adjust. Grey stood over the fallen man, just a silhouette in the shadows. Her shoulders were still thrown back, head bowed as if she couldn’t look away from the corpse at her feet. Her entire posture radiated tension.

Theron couldn’t help but frown. They both had been in countless fights, skirmishes, and battles together at this point. Deaths in these types of battle were common, and were always a regret for his Jedi in particular, but something about this reaction was just a little… off. Usually she checked on her teammates, confirmed the enemy was neutralized, took a moment to mourn the loss of life. But there was always movement. Noise. Anything and everything except this unnatural stillness.

A trill of a comm unit sounding interrupted the eerie quiet, and after a moment his wife’s still figure moved to answer it, almost robotically. The sound of the audio feed filled both of their earbuds as Major Vindo’s voice came through.

“Unbelievable. I just played sabacc with that guy yesterday! We talked about his kids…”

As Vindo spoke, Theron closed the gap, quietly stepping up next to his wife, who was still staring down at the fallen man. The anger and shock in the major’s tone was understandable, even though the sentiment behind them was something Theron had unfortunately heard over and over. Even before his own little stint as a faux traitor, rooting out moles and information leaks was kind of built into the life of a spy. Hazard of the job, dealing with treachery. It was a little less routine for a normal Jedi—but Grey’s career had been far from normal. Even before the Alliance, before Revan and Darok and their ilk, she’d had her own share of betrayals to contend with.

Even so, as Vindo continued to speak, he watched in the dim light as the what little color he could see drain from Grey’s face as she struggled to swallow. Once. Twice. Successfully on the third time. A spike of concern lanced through him and he reached out to her, but she pulled away from him abruptly and nearly cut Vindo off with an acknowledgement that they’d secure the scene until her people could arrive.

The transmission fizzled out and silence settled in again. Only a fool would have ever accused Theron Shan of being a patient man, and that impatient, impulsive part of him wanted answers _now_ as he could sense that something was very wrong. They’d been together long enough that she didn’t have to say anything for him to get that. But there was something almost fragile about the silence, as if he were somehow intruding on a private moment not meant for him. His concern won out in the end.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, hardly above a whisper, although it almost sounded like a roar to his ears. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you… handle this?” Her plea was but a broken whisper, the blunt edge that had been in her voice when speaking with Vindo gone now that it was just the two of them. “Please?”

“Yeah, of course. Are you—”

She quickly shook her head, interrupting the question before it had even been finished and practically bolted for the door. She only slowed enough to snatch up the abandoned datapad before she was gone. He watched in dumbfounded silence, before it registered that he should go after her. He took a few steps towards the door, and then remembered that he’d promised to keep everything secured until backup arrived. Although that seemed like a much smaller concern in his mind than making sure she was okay.

Except that she’d _asked_ him to do this for her—not check up on her. This was really the first time they’d been back in the field together _since_ Nathema. Since Umbara. As much as things were better between them since his undercover stint, there was still an underlying tension that seemed to be waiting on the edges for this issue to crop up again. Him assuming what was best for her, and ignoring what she asked. This was nowhere near on the same scale, but the principle still applied.

He gave it a few moments thought, calculating the travel time it would take before anyone arrived, versus the probability of someone walking into this remote little farm. They’d already taken care of the traitor’s main contacts within the Nova Blades, so the likelihood of one of them showing up wasn’t high. The pirates littering farms on the way here had also been cleared out, but it would still take Vindo’s people a little time to arrive. Theron pursed his lips together, weighing his options before coming to a decision.

A quick sweep of the building confirmed that everything inside was secure, and a few small sensors placed outside the entrance would ping him via his implants if an unwanted guest showed up. Those precautions taken, he felt safe in leaving long enough to go after Grey.

He found her around the back of the building, perched on the fallen branch of a Blba tree that someone had decided would make a good bench. Most people would expect to find the strong, venerable Jedi Master that so many knew of to be calmly meditating, with maybe her feet tucked in as she sat perfectly balanced. Or to find an experienced war veteran staring off in the distance, steely eyed and preparing for what came next. They wouldn’t have recognized the woman who was hunched over, curling in on herself as if trying to ward off the outside world. It reminded Theron a lot of the way he used to fall asleep in the ship he’d stowed away in after leaving Haashimut and the Order. Just another lost kid, all alone in the galaxy.

But neither of them were that lost child anymore. Nor were they alone.

Before they’d come here, Theron had known that a trip to Dantooine was probably not going to be a painless affair for her. It was why he had insisted on coming along, before she had even asked or even looked at him. It was her home planet, there were painful memories here, he got that. But this was beyond any of the reactions or situations he’d anticipated.

She’d always been so tightlipped about her childhood, only letting little details slip here and there. Had always become quiet or withdrawn whenever the planet had come up in even the slightest mentions. He’d once found a packet of the planet’s traditional spiced tea on a trip and brought it back to her as a surprise. She’d nearly burst out crying the moment she’d smelled it. He’d thought he’d somehow screwed up royally — and it had taken him a while to realize that these reactions had nothing to do with _him_.

Hell, she had been so private about those details he hadn’t even known she’d had any living blood relations until one of her brothers had shown up on Odessen one day. While that family reunion hadn’t exactly been picture perfect, it had opened her up to talking about what had happened. About the day her parents had died—murdered by Sith looking for ancient Jedi artifacts.

Considering that history, he’d expected those bad memories would have been stirred up just by setting foot here. He’d expected some terse silences, pained expressions, and possibly her just wanting to leave. This seemed… beyond that somehow.

Or maybe he was just really bad at understanding the heart of the matter. As much as he liked to think they clicked and really _got_ each other, she had a way of throwing a curve ball at the most unexpected moments and leaving him feeling like a fish out of water.

Theron approached slowly and cautiously, as if any sudden movement might spook her. If there had been anyone for kilometers around to watch the scene, they might have thought he was attempting to calm a skittish orback rather than his wife.

He sat next to her gingerly, taking in her downcast gaze that was fixated on the datapad in her hand. She clutched it so tightly he could see the knuckles peeking out of her fingerless gloves turning almost white. It took a few moments before she raised her head to look at him, eyes coming back into focus as if she’d been lost to another time. She glanced back at the building with a question in her gaze, and before she had a chance to ask, he was already answering, perhaps a little more defensively than he intended.

“I’ve got it covered.” He tapped his implants, as if that would explain everything. She blinked back at him blankly, and after a few seconds he added: “I planted some sensors that will me know if we have any guests.”

Her lips twitched ever so slightly, perhaps in the pale imitation of a smile. “You and your gadgets.”

“They come in handy every now and then.” He shrugged. “Sorry, I know you wanted me to handle it, but I just…”

“That was unprofessional of me to make you do everything. I just…” She shook her head, eyes dropping again.

There was something about that look in her eyes that got him every time, that made him forget whatever he’d had set his mind to. His previous caution was completely abandoned as he reached for the hand still clutching the datapad far too tightly. She didn’t pull away this time, but neither did she turn to him.

“You know I don’t care about that,” he said after a moment, his thumb brushing absently over her white-knuckled grip. “My only concern is you.”

That managed to summon a watery smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said with a little more finality. “It’s my job.”

“Since when?”

“I’d say since I put that ring on your finger,” he paused, but then added honestly, “although that only made it official. Unofficially… I lost track a while ago. I guess since we started the Alliance.”

“Liar,” she gave a choked laugh.

“Okay, you’ve got me there.” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, before leaning his head against hers in their awkward position. “Probably from the moment I fell in love with you.”

“You said that was the first time you saw me.”

He gave a half shrug. “As I said, I lost track a long while ago.”

That earned another ghost of a smile, before her eyes dropped back down to the datapad. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

Stars, that list was a kilometer long at least, and if he even attempted to start listing things off they’d be here all week. Besides, it would just distract her — although maybe it would chase away those tears for a little bit. Which was a tempting thought, if only for a few moments. He could have listed off the ten million little and big things she’d done for the galaxy, for _him_ — but really it all boiled down to one thing in the end. “You’re you. That’s good enough for me.”

She pressed her lips together, eyes still firmly fixed on the datapad, as if that simple statement of affection hurt.

“What’s wrong?” he asked it quietly, cautiously. 

This sort of thing tended to go two ways — either she’d open up to him. Or she’d shut down. He’d already seen what happened when she shut him out and tried to bury her negative emotions — and he never wanted to push her to that again. So he waited. Hoping that patience would be enough — and that wasn’t exactly his strong suit. But for her, he’d do anything. Including swallow his own impulsive need to fix everything instantly.

She remained quiet for a long time. So long that he started to wonder if Vindo’s people would get here before another word was spoken between them. Or if Grey hadn’t heard the question. Or maybe just had decided that she just wasn’t going to explain this thing. It’d be something he’d find out later from someone else. Or even not at all.

But then her white-knuckled grip on the datapad loosened, and she handed it over to him, face nearly unreadable except for the shimmer dancing at the edges of her eyes. He accepted the device, but was loathe to pull away from her, so he tilted it until he could see the text on the display even in the bright sunlight. It was a note, apparently from the wife of the man lying on the floor of the building — no. His _widow_ , Theron corrected himself. 

> _“Hey, you! I’m so glad you’ll be done with all this soon. We miss you so much. It’ll be nice to stop getting harassed by scummy debt collectors all the time, though. Saara says “Hi dada!” That’s right, she’s TALKING. Can you believe it? She’s gotten so big. Anyway, we love you and can’t wait to see you!”_

There was nothing really odd about it, just normal long distance relationship communications between a married couple. The bit about the debt collectors _was_ new information and it made sense. Money was a powerful motivator, as was the need to protect your family from that sort of scum. He understood that part well enough at least. Maybe had this happened before the Order of Zildrog, he’d have felt less of a pang of regret for the traitor. Not everyone got a second chance like Theron had. 

He briefly wondered if that’s what this was about, but that question didn’t seem right to ask. Other than being a bit self-centered, this wasn’t about him. At least, he didn’t _think_ it was.

“He never got to hear her talk.” Theron almost started at the whisper, too caught up with trying to puzzle out the mystery that had been handed to him.

“What?”

“His daughter. She said her first words while he was here and he never even got to hear them,” she said. “He’s never _going_ to hear them. Because of me.”

“That’s not your—”

“Yes it _is_!” Grey jerked away, tears streaming down her face in earnest now. “Saara’s going to grow up without her father because I stuck a lightsaber through his chest!”

Theron wisely sensed that this was _not_ the right time to point out that statistically, this was probably not the first time something like today’s incident had happened. Not every single man that had fallen to her blades had been childless. Even if you discounted Valkorion (because really, did he even _count_ as a father).

“He opened fire on us,” Theron said cautiously. “It was self-defense.”

“I know.” The whisper was almost a choked sob. “It’s stupid. So stupid. And I just can’t stop thinking about it. About little Saara. Never seeing her dad again. Eventually forgetting what he looks like. Forgetting what he sounds like. Until he’s not even a fragment of a memory that she can’t summon no matter how hard she wants to.”

 _Oh_.

Oh no.

“What kind of daughter would do that?” she asked brokenly.

 _For better or worse_ , Theron had promised a few months back on Rishi. The words had come so easy. Even knowing full well they both had an entire cargo bay full of baggage. But knowing that, and knowing what to do when it came time to unpack it were two different things. Grey had mentioned her parents a few times, but usually it was her mother that she’d talked about. It wasn’t until her long lost brother had turned up on Odessen had Theron really learned anything about his deceased father-in-law. And even then it wasn’t really much.

Davin Onasi had been a field medic during the Great Galactic War. Had nursed a wounded Jedi back to health after a particularly nasty battle in the Outer Rim — and they had fallen in love. Or at least, that was the assumption Theron worked off of, since both lovers had disappeared to Dantooine after she’d gotten pregnant with their first child. A place to raise their little family away from the Sith and the war and all of the death — until inevitably it had found them.

Theron’s hand strayed to her, resting in the small of her back because he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what would make it better — or worse. But he wanted to do something. Anything.

“I don’t think he ever raised his voice once. I remember that much at least. Even if it’s not enough,” she murmured. “He was so kind. Gentle.”

The man sounded a whole lot like someone else Theron knew. Although he wondered if she even realized the connection.

“Dad answered the door when they came,” she continued. “Didn’t even get all the way into the front yard before they cut him down. Momma wasn’t out the door before he was… gone. I think. I wasn’t there. I should have been but I wasn’t. I asked Draike to tell me more — but he didn’t want to.”

Well, at least there was _that_. Theron still didn’t have the greatest of opinions or relationships with his brother-in-law, who’d shown up on Odessen a while back full of piss and vinegar and a lifetime of anger and resentment towards his little sister. Draike Highwind was an _ass_ , but at least not enough of one to recount to his sister their parents’ final moments.

Theron really had no idea what the right thing to say here was. The closest he had to relating to the situation was when he’d lost Ngani Zho on the mission to the Vesla system. Like that _still_ hurt sometimes, remembering Master Zho, the stray thought that occasionally overtook him when something reminded him of the man that raised him. But it wasn’t the same. Not really. Theron still had memories of Ngani Zho. And both his birth parents were still alive, as strained as those relationships were at the best of times. He still had a chance to fix things, if any of them ever put aside pride and duty and hurt feelings long enough to try.

Instead of saying any of that though, he just kneaded his fingers along her vertebrae, unsure of what else to do. It was kind of his default mode when this sort of thing came up, which felt a little cowardly. Never saying anything in case it made things worse, but also never saying anything that made it better. Almost like he was waiting for it to pass. Which he _wasn’t_ doing, really he wasn’t. He was just so used to being able to leap in and save the day, or at least help in some tangible way. Just being still and listening was never going to feel natural for him.

“Everything was on fire by the time I made it back, and they were already… gone.” She seemed to almost choke on the last word, but forced it out anyway. A strange expression settled on her face, the broken voice hardening to something that sent a chill down Theron’s spine. “Watching them, the house — _everything_ — go up in smoke, I made a vow. I _would_ become a Jedi like my mother before me, and I could make sure no child ever had to feel this way again.”

When Theron had been six years-old, he’d been studying intently under Master Zho’s tutelage — but he’d also been allowed to be a kid too. Studying and practicing the art of meditation, but also playing with his little toy battle droids during his down time. At that point in time, his desire to be a Jedi had been driven by the call for adventure and purpose — he hadn’t been making heavy promises about righting the wrongs of the galaxy. 

It was difficult to imagine a little girl doing that, but then again… kids didn’t always make the most rational decisions, especially traumatized ones that had just lost their entire world. He could still remember a very angry teenage boy stowing away on a freighter ship, intending to prove his worth to the galaxy. When he thought about it like that, maybe he did kind of get it.

“I’m sorry,” was the best words of comfort he could come up with. “But today was—”

She quickly shook her head, the tears still silently streaming down her face. “You don’t understand.”

“I’m trying,” he promised. “I _want_ to.”

“You don’t. You really don’t.” Her gaze dropped back to the ground again, eyes unfocusing again as she went back to some other time in her life. “Today isn’t the first time I broke that promise.”

There was something in that look in her eyes, in her flat tone of voice that told him whatever the rest of this story contained probably was something he didn’t want to hear. He reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. _For better or worse_.

“If it helps you to talk about it,” his tone was soft, but the intent behind the words firm in their resolve, “then I want to know.”

She took in a shuddery breath, before letting it out. The nerve in her jaw twitching, as if she was fighting some internal battle. “I’ve never told… no one ever found out—but I…”

He tried not to frown, careful to school his expression so she wouldn’t shut down or stop talking for fear of his reaction. That tingling of unease in his spine started up again.

“After the failed mission to the Emperor’s Fortress… when I under Vitiate’s thrall… part of my ‘retraining’ was to go on missions. Mostly against the Republic. Sometimes on unruly Imperial citizenry wanting independence. But civilians were involved. On both sides. More than once.”

Oh Force _no_. She was right, he didn’t want to hear this. But he remained still, and just listened.

“The worst time though… there was a mother. Trying to protect her daughter and I couldn’t—my hands, I couldn’t control them, and Vitiate wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t let me… stop. Made me cut her down in front of her child. And then he just whispered. That some part of me must have wanted this, because otherwise I would have broken his control and stopped him. So why didn’t I just give in already?” There was no hiccup or hitch in her voice as she recited this, but the tears were still running down her cheeks in rivulets. “And even though he controlled everything I did, everything I saw, he wanted me to _see_. Wanted me to look at the little girl.”

Bile rose in Theron’s throat even as a familiar, raw surge of anger rushed through him — it was a special kind of unbridled fury, reserved for just one being in the galaxy that was long since gone.

“It’s not like I had a choice, but I did look. In that child’s face, I saw my own looking back at me. And the only thing reflected in her eyes was a monster with a lightsaber.” Grey’s voice had gone flat, all steel, anger, anguish and emotion bled out. “And then using my hands, Vitiate killed that little girl too. Just because he could.”

Theron didn’t have any words of wisdom or comfort, he was too intent on trying to control the simmering explosion of rage welling up in his chest at the thought of his wife’s childhood trauma being used as a way to break her. To make her some lifeless, will-less puppet. Just another weapon in his arsenal in his bloody bid for immortality.

Whenever Theron thought he knew the worst of it, knew the depths of depravity in the monster that had threatened the entire galaxy, he would always discover something new. It didn’t matter that Vitiate or Valkorion or whatever the hell they were supposed to call him was gone now — the scars he left behind in those around him would never completely heal. There would always be some trace of him left. In a twisted way, he had kind of achieved the immortality that had reached so hard for.

“I tell myself that everything he forced me to do wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t _really_ me swinging my lightsabers and inflicting that evil on the galaxy. I tell myself that I’m not that monster I saw in that little girl’s eyes. And sometimes I believe it.” Some unquantifiable emotion was finding its way back into her voice, but Theron couldn’t tell if it was anger or shame or something else entirely. “But then I come back here, back to where I made that promise. And break it. _Again_. And now there’s no Valkorion to blame it on this time.”

 _No_ —

“You are _not_ a monster,” Theron said firmly, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Not now, and not then.”

She stiffened at the sudden hug, as if startled by the motion. After a few moments, she relaxed and returned the embrace. Fingers curling into his jacket and head tucking under his chin as if she were seeking refuge from her own confession. He could feel the wetness from her cheeks trickle down his skin, but he ignored it, just pulling her in closer.

“Part of me knows that,” she said, “but there’s another part of me that remembers a little girl hating the faceless monster who took her parents away. And that Saara now has one of those too — and how many other children as well? How many fathers and mothers have I stolen over the years?”

Theron broke the hug, pulling her away from him so he could stare her in the eye as he forcefully repeated, “You are _not_ a monster. This is not the same thing that happened to you.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No!” It was difficult to keep his tone even, but Theron tried. “For Force’s sake, you are still the same stubborn woman I met years ago who refused to ‘murder people in their sleep’. Even when it’s the most tactically unsound decision in the world, you try your damndest to save everyone you ever meet, including the ones trying to kill you!”

“But—”

“You can’t save everyone — and you can’t talk everyone down from a fight. It _sucks_ , I know it does, but you’re not a monster for defending yourself or the people around you.”

The fight deflated out of her with a sigh, although the tears hadn’t dried up yet. He still wasn’t sure what the right thing to do here was, but the easiest and most natural thing was to pull her back into his arms. Let her bury her face into his chest until the choked sobs settled into deep breaths. He desperately wanted to punch something, _anything_ , but that really wouldn’t fix anything. And maybe just holding the woman he loved while she cried wouldn’t fix anything either, but it was… something.

It didn’t stop his mind from churning, though, trying to come up with some solution, _any_ solution to help. He couldn’t bring anyone back from the dead — that was beyond _anyone_ ’ _s_ capability. But maybe he could find out where Saara and her mother lived, find out who the family owed money to. Maybe if he asked nicely he could get the debt collectors to back off, and if they didn’t, _then_ he could punch something. It wouldn’t bring back a lost husband and father, but at least the family would have some breathing room for their grief. And just maybe it would give a little peace of mind to a stubborn and guilt-ridden Jedi.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when a warning flashed on his HUD from the sensors he’d planted — it seemed their backup team was about to arrive. He was reluctant to move from his protective perch, but he was fairly certain that Grey would not want anyone finding the Commander of the Eternal Alliance crying her eyes out on a log.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “it looks like Vindo’s team is about to get here.”

“I should—”

“Let me handle it,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to deal with this.”

“But…”

“It’s my job to have your back, remember?” He smiled at her with no small amount of fondness. “I’ve got this.”

After a moment, she nodded tentatively. “Okay.”

“And once we wrap up here,” he added, “we’re going to Rishi, and you’re going to go hug your stupid fat little turtle.”

“Speedy’s not stupid,” she protested weakly, but there was the hint of a watery smile. “Or fat.”

“ _You_ didn’t have to try and carry him. That turtle needs to go on a diet.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Hey, I’m a spy, not a biologist.” Theron shrugged lightly. “Regardless, I think it’s time to enact our honeymoon pact. I’ll call Lana, get someone else to deal with the rest of the pirates.”

“What?”

From the befuddled look on her face, he wasn’t sure which part of that statement had thrown her. Surely she remembered the entire reason they’d bought their hideaway on Rishi. They’d spent an entire _week_ looking at all countless pieces of property before she’d fallen in love with that stupid turtle — the private beach it lived on and hidden apartment overlooking the water was just a bonus. It was their own little place in the galaxy, somewhere they could disappear into when they needed a break. And Theron was pretty damn sure this qualified.

“I’m not leaving.”

It was his turn to blink in confusion. “What?”

“I am not done here yet,” she said, seeming to find her voice again, even if the quality of it was a little raspy from all of the crying. “You’re right that I can’t save everyone, Theron — but… I need to do this.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as a tension headache began to creep in. “You don’t _have_ to do anything. I will make sure that this is taken care of. I promise you that.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She met his gaze, eyes still puffy and rimmed with red, but her expression was hard set. “I wasn’t able to save my parents or my home when I was a child —and maybe I couldn’t keep that promise I made, or even remember my father’s face— but the people here are in trouble and I _can_ save them. Ensure these children don’t grow up like I did.”

Part of him wanted to fight her on this, insist that they get the hell out of here and try to forget about Dantooine and pirates and all of the baggage and damage that had been unearthed by just one stupid, simple letter. However she just stared back at him, unblinking, shoulders squared and jaw set and he knew that there was nothing to fight. They had come here to do a job, and it wasn’t done yet.

“Okay,” he said softly. “We finish this. All the way.”

The squared shoulders relaxed a little. “Thank you.”

“But,” he added, “we are heading to Rishi right after this, and you are going to give that stupid turtle a hug, and we’re not answering e-mails or holos for a week. Deal?”

The next smile she gave him was a little less watery, a little more genuine. “Deal.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss into her forehead before shoving himself to his feet. “Now, I better go meet our friends before they come searching for us. You going to be okay here?”

“I will be all right,” she said, “now.“

He wasn’t sure if he completely believed that, but it would have to do for the moment. For now, he’d go deal with Vindo’s men, and just stick by his wife’s side until these damn pirates were dealt with. Then they’d get the hell out of here, and leave all these reminders of broken promises in the past where they belonged.

* * *

Some time later, and one pirate incursion firmly dealt with, found Theron in the pilot’s seat of _the Defender_. He had just finished punching in the flight plan into the ship’s navicomp when there was a trill from the datapad sitting on the console next to him. Grey immediately reached for it, and he shot her a look.

“No e-mails, remember?”

“We’re not on Rishi _yet_ ,” she said with a hint of humor, “the rules start then.”

That sounded like something _he’d_ say. He snorted out an irritated breath, but couldn’t exactly stop her from flicking the device on. It was definitely an overreaction on his part, but considering the last time she’d looked at a letter on a datapad, he was just a bit leery. 

“If it’s Lana,” he said, “tell her we’re headed to Nar Shaddaa.”

“That’s not very nice,” she scolded lightly. “And it’s not from Lana.”

“Oh? Who is it?”

Her gaze returned to the datapad, forehead crinkling as she scanned the contents of the message. She sucked in a quick breath, a suspicious shimmer gathering at the corner of her eyes. The urge to snatch the thing away was rising, but before he could even move, a smile had broken across her face. She quickly dashed away the gathering tears and handed over the datapad so Theron could read its contents.

The letter was from a stranger, a Raeleene Nimsiik — apparently a local from one of the surrounding farms. 

> _It was… so painful, feeling so helpless while we watched our crops get destroyed. Grandfather was in tears at all that hard work, lost. My kids didn’t understand what was going on, and they never liked the silent game. We were sure they’d try to burn down the barn we were hiding in, but then you came along. You’ve inspired my daughter to join the Dantooine Militia. I don’t much like it, but protecting Dantooine’s people is a respectable goal. If it weren’t for you…_

He glanced up from the datapad to see that the wide smile was still in place, and some of the tightness and uncertainty in Theron’s chest loosened at seeing it. “Well, would you look at that.”

“I wasn’t looking for recognition for any of this, but…”

“Does it help any?”

She nodded as she retook possession of the datapad, fingers tracing over the text again. “I think this time, it’s what I needed.”

He shot her a smile as he absently punched in the sequence of switches for takeoff. There would be plenty of time to stow the device away once they got into hyperspace, if the need arose. For now, though, she seemed content to just re-read the letter of gratitude from a stranger. Maybe she’d never be able to banish the demons of her past or rid herself from the guilt plaguing her completely, but for the moment, the knowledge that she’d helped one small farm family was enough for her.

So it was enough for him too.


End file.
